gn  the  pttte  #t»* 


George  Washington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 

FAMILY  OF 

COLONEL  FLOWERS 


ip  link  %$$♦ 


PUBLISHED   BY 

JOHN     M.     COOPER     &     CO. 
Savannah  Georgia. 


Dedicated 

TO  THR 

Little    Girls    and    Boys 

OF  TIIK 

Southern  Confederacy, 

15Y    A 

Lady  op  Savannah. 


PREFACE. 

I  publish  this  little  book,  because,  like  everybody  else, 
I  would  like  to  do  good — good  to  the  fresh  young  hearts 
who  have  inspired  my  little  songs,  and  good  to  the  brave 
soldiers  now  suffering  for  our  sacred  rights. 

To  tlieir  relief,  the  proceeds  of  this  volume  shall  be 
appropriated. 


gvv  tit*  jGMU  ©tt*£, 


THE  CLOCK. 

What  says  tho  clock  when  it  strikes  one? 
Watch,  says  the  clock!  Oh,  watch  little  one? 
What  says  the  clock  when  it  strikes  two? 
Love  God,  little  darling,  for  God  loves  you! 
And  tell  me,  tell  me  softly,  what  it  whispers  at  three- 
Is  it  "suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me?" 
Then  come  gentle  lambs,  come  and  wander  no  more, 
Tis  tho  voice  of  the  Shepherd  that  calls  you  at  four  J 
And  oh !  let  your  3^011110:  hearts  with  gladness  revive, 
When  it  echoes  so  sweetly,  God  bless  thee,  at  five- 
And  remember  at  six,  with  the  fading  of  day, 
That  your  life  is  a  vapour  that  passeth  away! 
What  says  the  clock  when  it  strikes  seven  ? 
Of  such  is  the  kingdom,  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  I 
And  what  says  tho  clock  when  it  strikes  eight? 
Strive,  strive,  to  enter  in  at  the  Beautiful  Gate ! 
And  louder,  still  louder  it  calls  us  at  nine, 
And  its  song  is,  my  son  give  me  that  heart  of  thine. 
Then  sweet  be  your  voices  responsive  at  ten — 
Ilosanna  in  the  highest,  hosanna — amen! 
And  loud  let  the  chorus  riug  on  till  eleven — 
Praise,  praise  to  the  Father,  the  Father  in  Heaven  ! 
While  the  deep    stroke  of  midnight,    the  watchword   shall 

bring, 
Lo !  these  are  my  jewels  these,  these,  saith  the  King. 


For  the  Little  Ones. 
DICKIE-The  Boy  Soldier. 

He  is  acting  o'er  the  battle, 

With  his  cap  and  feathers  gay, 
Singing  out  his  soldier  prattle, 

In  a  mockish,  manly  way ; 
With  the  boldest,  bravest  footstep, 

Treading  firmly  up  and  down, 
And  his  banner  waving  softly, 

O'er  his  boyish  locks  of  brown. 

And  I  sit  beside  him  sewing, 

With  a  busy  heart  and  hand. 
For  the  gallant  soldiers  going 

To  the  far  off  battle  land ; 
And  I  gaze  upon  my  jewel, 

In  his  baby  spirit  bold, 
My  little  blue-eyed  soldier, 

Just  a  second  summer  old — 

Till  the  deep,  deep  well  of  feeling 

In  my  mothers  heart  is  stirred, 
And  the  tears  come  softly  stealing 

At  each  imitative  word. 
There's  a  struggle  in  my  bosom, 

For  I  love  my  darling  boy; 
He's  the  gladness  of  my  spirit, 

He's  the  sunlight  of  my  joy! 
Yet  I  think  upon  my  country, 

And  my  spirit  groweth  bold — 
O  I  wish  my  blue-eyed  soldier 

Were  but  twenty  summers  old:' 


For  the  Little  Ones. 

I  would  speed  him  to  the  battle, 

I  would  man  him  for  the  fight, 
I  would  give  him   to  his  country, 

For  his  country's  wrong  and  right! 
I  would  nerve  his  hand  with  blessing 

From  the  "God  of  Battles"  won— 
Willi  Tlis  helmet  and  His  armour,    . 

I  would  r;over  o'er  my  son  I 

0  I  know  there'd  be  a  struggle, 

For  I  love  my  darling  boy, 
lie's  the  gladness  of  my  spirit, 

lie's  the  sunlight  of  my  joy! 
Yet,  in  thinking  on  my  country, 

0  my  spirit  growcth  bold! 
And  I  wish  my  blue-eyed  soldier, 

Were  but  twenty  summers  old. 


Good  Night  Song. 

Let  me  linger,  dearest  sister, 

Soft  and  silent  by  your  bed — 

'Till  the  happy  sprites  from  dream-land, 

Cluster  round  your  weary  head. 

0  I  wish  I  were  a  fairy ! 
In  this  dark  and  dewy  hour, 
Just  to  sweep  across  your  forehead, 
With  a  sunbeam  or  a  flower! 


For  the  Little  Ones. 

But  I'll  pray  the  holy  angels 
Close  beside  your  bed  to  stand, 
And  to  bring  you  some  sweet  message, 
From  the  bright,  the  "better  land." 

They  may  watch  you  till  the  morniug 
Sheds  its  golden  streaks  of  red, 
And  the  little  smiling  sunbeams 
Flit  around  your  snowy  bed. 

Then  from  sleep,  with  sweet  refreshing, 
Bright  and  cheerful  may  you  be — 
When  I  come  to  say  "good  morning," 
As  I've  sung  "good  night"  to  thee. 


THE  RAINBOW. 

What  is  it!  oh,  what  is  that  beautiful  thing! 

That  I  see  over-head  in  the  sky? 
It  is  bright  as  it  can  be,  and  shaped  like  a  ring, 

And  'tis  hung  up,  oh,  ever  so  high! 

It  is  purple  and  blue,  and  crimson  and  green, 
And  the  streaks  are  so  narrow  and  even, 

0  it  must  be,  it  must  be,  the  pathway,  I  ween, 
That  we  take  when  we  go  up  to  Heaven ! 

Yet  it  cannot  be  so,  for  the  valley  is  deep, 
That  I  know  we  must  cross  when  we  die, 

So  it  may  be  the  wings  of  the  angels  that  sweop 
Down  this  path  from  the  beautiful  sky ! 


For  the  Little  Ones. 

My  darling,  spoko  softly,  but  joyous  and  bright, 

With  a  smile  full  of  feeling  and  love, 
As  she  leaned,  in  a  rapture  of  childish  delight, 

Towards  the  beautiful  raiubow  above. 

So  sweet  was  her  prattle,  beguiling  the  day 
With  the  loveliest  thoughts  ever  heard, 

That  the  bright  bow  of  Promise  had  faded  away, 
Ere  I  spoke  to  my  darling  a  word. 

Then  I  told  her  of  Noah,  the  sin-stricken  world, 

The  deluge,  the  ark  and  the  dove, 
And  the  "bow  in  the  cloud,"  like  a  banner  unfurled, 

With  its  token  of  mercy  and  love. 

Then  it  seemed  that  the  spirit— the  soul  of  the  child. 

Beamed  forth  from  her  beautiful  eyes, 
And  a  sweet  look  of  wonder  rose  up  as  she  smiled, 

In  a  trausport  of  joyful  surprise. 

So  thinking  of  life,  with  its  sorrows  and  cares, 

Every  joy  like  a  mist  to  enshroud, 
I  prayed  that  her  pathway,  tho'  shadowed  by  tears, 

Might  be  cheered  by  the  ubow  in  the  cloud," 


Grand  Mother's  Song. 

Come  hither,  I'll  tell  thee,   how  precious  to  me 
Is  the  dear  little  baby  that  sits  on  my  knee  ; 
Ht's  as  light  as  a  feather,  and  free  as  the  air, 
Ani  he  plays  with  his  fingers  all  over  mv  hair. 


10  For  tiie  Little  Ones. 

lie's  as  fresh  as  the  morning,  and  sweet  a£  the  rose, 
And  he  catches  a  blessing  wherever  he  goes; 
And  there's  nothing  on  earth  that  is  dearer  to  me 
Than  the  bright  little  baby  that  sits  on  my  knee! 

He's  a  gay  little  creature,  the  merriest  thing 
That  the  eye  ever  lit  on,  in  Summer  or  Spring, 
And  he  flits  like  a  sunbeam  all  over  the  house, 
Now  laughing  and  jumping,  now  still  as  a  mouse. 
There's  a  light  in  my  spirit,  a  thrilling  of  joy, 
As  I  clasp  to  my  bosom  this  glorious  boy — 
For  he's  just  as  bewitching  in  smiles  as  in  tears, 
And  he's  dearer  to  me,  for  the  name  that  he  bears. 

0  the  summer  is  shedding  its  beauty  around*, 

And  the  dear  little  flowers  are  decking  the  ground! 

And  the  gay  ones  are  seeking  for  pleasures  afar, 

Where  the  dauce  and  the  song  and  the  light  hearted  are. 

But  I  sit  in  my  chamber,  and  toss  on  my  knee, 

The  dear  little  fellow  so  precious  to  me, 

And  I  think  I  must  love  him  a  wee  bit  the  more, 

For  the  thought  that  his  mother  was  baby  before! 

He's  a  beautiful  boy — so  I'm  thinking  alone, 
As  I  pet  him  to  sleep  with  a  way  of  my  own ; 
0  he  sings  to  the  morn,  and  he  sings  to  the  eve, 
And  his  song  is  the  sweetest  you  e'er  could  conceive! 
He's  a  month  or  so  older,  perhaps,  than  the  birds, 
And  a  little  bit  bolder  by  two  or  three  words; 
Now  a  darling  he  is — if  there  ever  was  one, 
And  he  won't  be  a  year  till  the  summer  is  done! 


For  the  Little  Ones.  11 

MORNING. 

Eva,  Eva,  why  so  slow, 

Must  you  ever,  ever  go  ? 

Quick  my  little  darling  one, 

See,  the  morning  has  begun! 

Wash  your  little  face  and  hands, 

There  the  water-bucket  stands, 

Waiting  cool  and  nice  for  you — 

Make  haste  Eva,  Eva,  do! 

Put  your  shoes  and  stockings  on  J 

O  how  fast  the  minutes  runl 

Clean  your  teeth,  and  brush  your  hair, 

There  now — that  will  do  my  dear! 

Raise  your  little  head,  and  see, 

You  are  even  now  with  mei 

Don't  forget  to  fold  your  gown 
Lay  it  smooth  and  nicely  down! 
O  it  looks  so  clean  and  white, 
Even  by  the  broad  day  light! 
Now  I  think  a  little  frill 
Will  but  make  it  neater  still; 
You  can  hem  it  in  a  day, 
If  you  will  but  stitch  away, 
And  the  sevnng  on —  Pll  do — 
Tell  me  Eva,  what  say  you? 
Now  put  on  your  petticoat, 
And  the  flannel  round  your  throat- 
Pull  it  warmly  up  my  dear, 
For  old  winter  still  is  here: 


12  For  the  Little  On~es. 

And  you  know  that  wretched  cough, 
Will  not  let  you  take  it  off! 
If  you'll  come  and  stand  by  me, 
So  that  I  can  only  see, 
I'll  be  glad  to  help  you  fix 
Every  button,  up  to  six! 
And  I'll  hook  your  little  dress, 
Only  stopping  once  to  press, 
Just  a  sweet  good  morning  kiss, 
On  your  neck  —  my  little  miss! 
Up  now  Eva  —  up  my  dear — 
You  have  got  your  nail3  to  pare  ) 
Cut  them  very  smooth  and  round, 
Never  let  a  spot  be  found, 
That  is  not  as  fair  to  see 
As  my  little  Pet  should  be!' 

There  now  —  that  will  do  —  right  well- 
Hark!  I  hear  the  morning  bell, 
Ringing  loudly  on  the  stairs, — 
Run  —  dear  Eva  —  down  to  prayers'. 


THE  OFFERING- 

What  is  the  secret,  little  one  ?  . 

Come  sit  upon  my  knee, 
And  tell  me  what  it  is  you've  done. 

If  sorrowful  you  be. 


For  the  Little  Ones.  13 

■"There's  something  preying  on  your  heart, 
Now  don't  deny  it,  Liz, 
But  put  those  bonnie  curls  apart, 
And  tell  me  what  it  is. 

"I  saw  you  in  the  garden,  dear, 
A  little  while  a  ago, 
I  thought  I  saw  you  standing,  where 
The  richest  cherries  grow. 

"Your  happy  brow,  my  little  one, 
Now  wears  a  troubled  air — 
€ome  tell  me  what  it  is  you've  done- 
Come  near,  Liz —  very  near !  " 

She  called  me  softly  by  my  name, 

And  patted  o'er  my  heffd, 
Her  little  voice  like  music  came, 

These  were  the  words  she  said — 

J'I  only  searched  the  garden  there, 
To  find  upon  my  tree, 
The  first  ripe  cherry  of  the  year, 
If  any  I  could  see. 

"I  want  it  for  a  purpose  good — 
A  cherry  and  a  rose, 
A  little  violet  from  the  wood, 
The  palest  one  that  blows. 

"My  Cloth  of  Gold  is  nearly  round, 
I  wish  the  cherries  were; 
The  little  violets  abound, 

When  will  the  cherries  bear? 


14  For  the  Littt.e  Ones*. 

"The  straw-berries  are  turning  fast 
Within  their  lowly  beds — 
They're  blushing  deeper — deep  at  la?L 
And  bowing  down  their  heads. 

"I'm  only  waiting  now  to  find 

A  cherry  red  and  ripe — 

A  cherry  suited  to  my  mindr 

Without  a  spot  or  stripe. 

"And  then  from  off  the  green-wood  sod, 
I'll  pluck  the  violet  roots, 
And  bring  an  offering  to  God — 
Two  flowers,  and  two  fruits. 

"For  thus  in  olden  times  they  did, 
And  'tis  for  this?  that  I 
Am  watching  for  the  cherries  hid 
Up  in  the  branches  high." 

I  kissed  her  little  cheek  —  for  oh  t 
It  was  a  pleasant  thought — 

And  sweet  and  welcome  was  the  flow 
Of  joyful  tears  she  brought. 

And  then  I  told  her  that  the  Lord. 

The  Lord  of  glory  dear, 
Has  written  in  his  holy  word,. 

Another  lesson  there. 

And  that  the  sweetest  thing  that  she 
Could  offer  up  to  heaven, 

A  little  loving  heart  would  be, 
All  in  the  morning  given. 


For  the  Little  Ones.  15 

For  the  Very  Little  Ones. 

Little  Laura  sat  down  to  a  nice  cup  of  tea, 

And  she  thought  as  she  sipped  it,  how  happy  was  she, 

With  a  seat  at  the  table,  so  cheerfully  spread, 

With  papa  at  the  foot,  and  mamma  at  the  head. 

Then  she  thought  over  all  the  sweet  mercies  she  had, 
And  her  bine  eyes  grew  joyous,  the  child  was  so  glad; 
So  she  folded  her  white  hands,  and  bowed  her  young  head, 
And  thus  to  her  father  in  heaven  she  said — 

Relieve  the  distresses  of  others,  0  Lord ! 

And  feed  me  I  pray  with  the  "  milk  of  the  word," 

And  give  us  enough  for  to-morrow  again, 

And  forgive  all  our  sins  —  for  Christ's  sake—  amen. 


SANTA    CLAUS. 

"Mother  how  old  is  Santa  Clans?" 

A  little  darling  said, 
As  wide  awake  she  laid  aside, 

The  neatly  quilted  spread; 
And  tossing  back  the  stubborn  curls. 

That  would  come  dropping  down, 
She  started  for  the  chimney  side, 

All  in  her  snowy  gown. 

'"Tis  very  kind  in  Santa  Claus — 
It  is  so  very  cold, 


16  For  the  Little  Ones. 

For  him  to  venture  out  at  night — 
I'm  sure  he  must  be  old : 

P\)r  long  ago  I  heard  of  him — 
And  mother,  don't  you  know, 

When  you  were  but  a  little  girl, 
He  treated  you  just  so? 

"You  said  he  used  to  travel  down 

The  chimney  in  the  night, 
And  that  you  always  slept  too  long, 

To  see  him  take  his  flight; 
And  Grandmama  the  other  day, 

She  told  me  just  the  same, 
Altho'  I  think,  she  called  him  by 

A  little  shorter    name. 

"What  was  it  mother?"  and  she  laid 

Her  hand  upon  her  brow, 
But  in  another  moment  said, 

"01  remember  now ! 
'Twas  something  like  St.  Nick,  I  think, 

Or  some  such  name  as  that," 
And  down  upon  the  carpet  rug 

The  little  fairy  sat. 

She  held  her  stocking  in  her  hand, 

'Twas  full  of  treasures  sweet, 
And  stretched  too  long  almost  to  fit 

Her  little  tiny  feet. 
Upon  her  soft  and  rosy  lip, 

She  laid  the  candy  red, 
But  ere*  she  tasted,  —  put  it  down — 

And  tremulously  said, — 


For  the  Little  Ones.  11 

Mother,  I  will  not  eat  it  now — 

You  know  the  reason  why ;" 
And  as  I  looked,  a  shining  tear 

Came  peeping  from  her  eye; 
4iI  was  so  glad,  so  very  glad, 

This  happy  Christmas  day, 
I  all  forgot,  when  I  awoke, 

To  kneel  me  down  and  pray!" 

Then  by  my  side,  a  gentle  word 

For  pardon  softly  rose, 
I  trembled,  with  a  feeling  which 

Each  Christian  Mother  knows; 
Anflfcas  I  heard  that  timid  voice, 

Of  summers  only  ten, 
And  listened  to  the  echo  of 

That  beautiful  amen — 

I  thought  if  such  an  one  as  this, 

So  innocent  and  meek, 
Hath  on  her  lie-art  some  little  sin, 

May  taint  her  lovely  cheek — 
Oh,  what  a  holy  alter  should 

A  mother's  bosom  be — 
Till  every  little  one  be  clothed 

With  angel  purity  1 


I  have  a  pair  of  tiny  hands, 
They're  little  bits  of  things— r 

But  mother  says  that  they  were  made 
To  serve  the  "King  of  KiugV 


18  For  tiie  Little  Ones. 

Allie's  First  Lesson  in  Patience- 


'Twas  this  morning  I  was  sitting, 

In  my  bamboo  rocking  chair, 
With  my  basket  and  my  knitting.. 

To  beguile  the  minutes  spare; 
And  as  Allie  played  before  me, 

With  her  young  eyes  beaming  joy 
Like  a  picture  to  allure  me, 

From  my  womanly  employ; 
With  a  happy  thought  I  called  her 

From  her  play-things  scattered  wide_ 
And  with  sweet  persuasion  won  her  ^ 

To  a  duty  by  my  side. 
In  the  little  willow  basket 

Lay  a  tangled  skein  of  thread. 
Will  you  hold  it  for  me,  darling, 

While  I  wind  it?  "Yes,"  she  said- 
Then  her  white  arms  bare  and  lovely. 

She  outstretched  with  childish  mirth,. 
And  I  bound  the  tangled  meshes, 

Round  the  fairest  hands  on  earth. 
And  with  quick  and  lightsome  finger, 

I  began  my  labor  small. 
But  the  hours  seemed  to  linger 

As  I  wound  my  little  ball; 
For  the  tangled  thread*  grew  longer,. 

Every  minute  to  us  both, 
And  the  knotted  web  wove  stronger, 

Till  my  very  soul  was  wroth. 
But  the  gentle  little  creature, 


For  the  Little  Ones.  19 

Like  a  statue  still  and  calm, 
Stood  with  firm,  unwearied  feature, 

Just  as  patient  as  a  lamb ; 
And  in  accents  slow  and  solemn, 

With  amusing  gravity, 
Fell  a  quiet  word  of  caution, 

Or  encouragement  to  me. 
So  I  buckled  on  my  armour, 

And  began  anew  the  strife, 
Thinking  all  the  while  of  Allie 

Tn  her  far  off  future  life. 
And  I  wondered  if  the  patience 

Which  had  stood  her  well  to-day, 
Would  grow  brighter,  and  grow  stronger. 

As  she  journeyed  on  her  way ; 
But  with  busy  toil,  and  finger, 

Fast  the  busy  moments  flew, 
Till  the  skein  was  all  unraveled, 

And  the  knotty  meshes  too. 
So  I've  passed  from  work  to  singing, 

With  a  happy  spirit  blest, 
Of  the  seed  of  patience  springing 

In  my  little 'sister's  breast.         • 


HATTI  E. 


She's  bonnie,  bonnie  as  the  birds, 
And  blushing  as  the  flowers, 

And  scarce  a  darling  in  the  land, 
Is  half  as  fair  as  ours. 


20  For  the  Little  Ones. 

The  School  Girl's  Song. 

0  I  love  to  stny  through  the  live-long  day, 

Where  my  thoughts  gush  wild  and  free, 
And  the  friends  so  sweet,  of  my  childhood  meet, 

In  this  old  Ac;idemy ! 
And  I  love  to  stand  with  this  happy  band, 

Of  girls  so  young  and  fair, 
By  my  teacher's  side,  with  a  pupil's  pride, 

My  teacher's  heart  to  share. 

And  I'm  sad  to  think  as  I  journey  on, 

By  the  school-bell's  measured  chime — 
Of  the  Autumn  leaf,  and  the  moments  brief, 

In  the  far-off  future  time. 
For  they  tell  mo  all,  this  treasured  wall, 

Our  brightest  hopes  surround; 
So  I  love  to  sta}',  in  the  good  old  way, 

"Where  my  heart  is  sweetly  bound. 

0   I   love  to  gaze,   in   these   happy  days, 

On   the  bright,   bright  forms  I  see, 
On   the  beaming  eye?,  of  the  early  wise, 

In  their  young  simplicit}'. 
For  the  waving  curl,   of  a   merry  girl, 

Is  a  thing  so  light  an  1  fair, 
That  it  could  not  play,    o'er  a   brow  so  gay, 

If  it  were  not  happy  there.0 

And  the  rosy  smile,  with  its  cunning  wile, 

That  the   bonnie  school-girl  wears, 
0  it  cannot  be  we  may  ever  see 


For  the  Little  Ones.  21 

Such  a  blushing  hud  in   tears! 
For  the  "lights  and  shades"  of  a  school-girl's  life, 

Are  just  like  the  opening  morn, 
When  the  early  dew  and  the  flow' rets  new, 

With  the  first  sweet  breath  are  bom! 

But  the  school-girl's  hope,   if  ever  grief 

O'er  her  dancing  spirits  stay, 
Hatn  a  sudden  charm,   and  a  sweet  relief, 

To  "drive  dull  care   away." 
0  a  bud  half-blown   and  a  child    half  grown, 

Are  the  sweetest  things  on  earth, 
And  the  school-girl's  life,   is  as  free  from  strife, 

As  the  lamb  of  a  Summer's  birth! 

0  ye!   who  have  past  this  treasured  time, 

And  have  lost  its  wild  delight. 
Ye  may  envy  us,  as  ye  list  to  the  chime 

Of  the  tolling  bell  to-night. 
For  our  hearts  beat  high,   as  we  linger  by 

This  old  and   treasured   wall, 
And  we  hear  once  more,  as  we  did  of  yore, 

Our  teacher's  gentle  call. 

For  the  parting  time,  and  the  last  sweet  chime, 

Are  slowly  coming  on, 
And  we  may  not  stand  in  this  happy  band, 

When  our  holiday  is  gone. 
0  a  summer  bright,   and  a  happy  flight, 

Through   the  coming  months   we  pray, 
And  a  heart  of  love,   to  the  God  above, 

As  we  joy  in  our  holiday! 


22  Fob  the  Little  Ones. 

Our  Young  Volunteer. 


Come,  doff  that  military  dress, 

We  scarcely  know  you  thus — 
Come,  lay  aside  those  martial  airs, 

A  little  while  for  us. 
There's  something  strange  come  o'er  you  late. 

You're  bold  and  fearless  now — 
There's  self-reliance  in  your  step, 

And   thought  upon  your  brow; 
There's  strength  within  the  pressure  hard, 

Of  that  uncovered  hand, 
And  something  in  your  voice  that  sounds 

A  wee  bit  like  command. 
The  down  has  roughened  on  your  cheek, 

The  lip  is  firmly  set — 
But  oh!   the  sunny  smile,  thank  God! 

Is  all  unshadowed  yet! 
The  light  is  beaming  in  your  eye, 

Just  as  it  always  did — 
And  dark  and  long  the  lashes  lie, 

Upon  the  softened  lid. 
The  clustering  locks  in  smoother  bands, 

Still  beautiful  remain — 
0  throw  away  those  shoulder  arms, 

Come,  be  a  boy  again!  ° 
I'm   thinking  of  your  youthful  heart, 

Its  unsuspecting  trust, 
Of  all  the  by-ways,  deep  and  dark, 

That  tread,  I  know  you  must! 
I'm  thinking  of  the  evil  steps 


For  the  Little  Ones.  23 


€lose,  close  beside  your  own, 
Of  vice,  and  guilt,  and  wickedness, 

So  early,   early  shown  1 
I'm   thinking  of  that  inner  part — 

Your  undeveloped  life, 
Your  courage  and  your  manliness, 

To  bear  this  moral  strife! 
I  care  not  for  the  tented  camp, 

With   all  its  rigid  laws, 
I  love  my  country,  and  I'd  give 

The  dearest  to  her  cause  1 
But  oh !  e'er  manhood  on  your  brow, 

A  firmer   seal  hath  lain, — 
I'd  woo  you  from  your  soldier  life. 

To  be  a  boy  again! 


The  Happy  Family. 


We  have  beeu  a  happy  number, 

All  along  life's  little  way,* 
Lying  down  by  night  to  slumber, 

Rising  with  the  early  day. 
We  have  been  unbroken  ever, 

God  hath  spared  us  still  the  same — 
Let  our  little  voices  never 

All  forget  his  holy  name. 

We  are  all  of  different  ages, 

One  a- little  baby  still, 
Whose  sweet  prattle  with  its  gladness, 


24'  For  the  Little  One& 

Daily  doth  our  bosoms  fill. 
We  are  all  still  young  and  growing, 

Neither  yet  hath  reached  its  height — 
And  our  hearts  are  all  o'erflowing 

With  a  holy  love  to-night. 

Two  of  us  are  gentle  brothers, 

With  our  hearts  both  light  and  gay. 
We  must  treasure  all  the  others, 

Precious  little  sisters  they.    -» 
One  is  thoughtful,   meek  and  quiet, 

With  a  temper  soft  and  mikL 
All  her  little  actions  showeth, 

She  is  now  God's  holy  child. 

Lighter  is  the  heart  that  cometh 

Next  to  her  in  flight  of  years, 
And  our  mother  often  trembleth 

With  a  mother's  hopes  and  fears 
She  is  bright  and  merry-hearted, 

Free  from  weary  care  or  woe, 
And  her  joyous  ^spirit  brighteneth 

Moments  sad  we  else  might  know. 

Gaily  in  our  band  of  sisters — 

Two  are  very  closely  bound, 
They  are  different  in  their  tempers^ 

But  one  cJwrd  twined  around. 
One  is  gentler,  too,   and  older, 

With  a  kind  obliging  way, 
Which  doth  make  our   bosoms  hold  her 

Dearer  still,   thro'  every  day! 


For  the  Little  Ones.  25 

Both  have  life  and  cheerful  feeling, 

But  the  youngest  hath   a  glow, 
Which  thro'   all  our  circle   stealing, 

Glistens  like  the  streamlet's  flow  I 
She   is  wild  and  playful  often, 

But  she  loves  a  quiet  time, 
When  her  noisy  mirth   may  soften 

'Neath  the  spell  of  book  or  rhyme. 

One  there  is  in  all  this  number 

Which  hath  bound  us  all  in  all, — 
God  himself  hath   thrown  around  herr 

Love  we  tremble  to  recall! 
She   is  blest  with   fading  beauty, 

And  her  flaxen  curls  betray, 
What   a  frail  and  fragile  creature 

We  are  clinging  to  each  day. 

Often  have  we  seen  her  struggling 

With  a  quick   and  feverish   breast, 
And  but  lately  she  was  lying 

Close  beside   the  Angel  Death! 
Often   have  her  little  features, 

Worn   a  shade  of  weary  pain, 
Till  we  feared  we  n'er  might  see  her 

Sleeping  quietly  again, 

• 
She  is  dearer  now  than  ever, 

And  we  bless  the  precious  hand, 
Which   hath  cheered  our  youthful   bosoms, 

And  hath  spared  our  little  band. 
Thanks  we  give  Thee,  dearest  Father, 


26  For  the  Little  Ones. 

0  receive  the  tttanks  we  pray! 
Keep,  oh !   keep  us,  as  we  farther 
Glide  along  life's  little  way! 

Still  one  other  little  being 

Gladdens  all  this  household   band, 
With  her  blue  eyes  gentle  beaming 

Guided  by  a  sister's   hand. 
Let  not  e'er  our  footsteps  wander, 

Tempted-  tho'  our  spirits  be, 
Let  us  every  day  grow  fonder 

Of  each  other,   and  of  Thee.' 

Thus  we  are,   and  thus  may  ever, 

Happy  thoughts  our  spirits  fill, 
As  we  glide  along  forever 

Up  and  down  life's  little  hill] 
Thus  we  are  —  while  here  we  linger, 

Thus,  oh!  may  we  be  in  Heaven] 
Linked  as  now  in  sweetest  feeling — 

Brothers  two,  and  sisters  seven! 


The  Whip-po-wilL 

The  Whip-po-will  is  blithe  and  gay, 
But   oh!   lie  is  a  selfish   thing! 

Mother,   I   wish  he'd  fly  away 
And  let  the  other  birdies  sing. 

His  voice  is  very  loud  and  shrill, 
He's  noisy  as  a  mountain  elf— 


For  the  Little  Ones.  2? 

For  all  the  time  he's  talking  still, 
And  talking  all  about  himself. 

The  little  dovie  never  dares 

To  lift  he  cooing  voice  on  high, 
But  that  the  Whip-po-will  prepares 

To  drown  the  little  darling's  cry. 

And  long  before  the  robin  sings 
II is  tribute  to  the  evening  breeze, 

A  louder  note,   the  forest  rings, 

With  Whip-po-will  among  the  trees. 

The  squirrel  glides  behind    the  hedge, 

Or  wantons  in  the  hickory  tree, 
He  climbs  the  rocks  from  ledge  to  ledge, 

A  merry,   merry  thing  is  he. 

The  little  rabbit  runs  along, 

Low  down  behind  the  shady  hill. 
How  can  he  bear  the  noisy  song — 

Of  Whip-po-will,  poor  "Whip-po-will. 

I   think  he   might  just  stop  awhile, 

And  let  the  other  birdies  sing! 
There's  little  sparrow  on  the  stile — 

A  sweeter  note  he's  sure  to  bring. 

My  daughter  —  God  who  made  the  birds, 

Appointed  nicely  every  part — 
Their  little  songs,  their  little  words, 

All  bring  a  message  to  the  heart. 


28  For  the  Little  Ones. 

And  if  the  noisy  Whip-po-will, 
Doth  seem  a  .selfish  thing  to  be — 

Remember  —  we  may  gather  still, 
A  lesson  meet  for  you  and  me ! 

Poor  little  bird!   Oh,   do  not  chide 
The   Whip-po-wuTs  unconcious  song! 

But  dove-like,   may  you  seek  to  hide 
What  e'er  another  does  of  wrong. 


Christmas  or  Sunday. 


'Twas  Christmas  eve,  and  by  the  sun, 

Fast  fading  from  the  sky, 
Methought  'twas  time  for  "Santa  Claus,' 

To  mount  his  chariot  high! 
And  sitting  breathless  in  the  dark, 

All  sad  and  musingly, 
I  spied  my  little  rosy  Pet, 

And  beckoned  her  to  me. 

The  child  came  creeping  softly  up, 

With   such  a  thoughtful  air, 
I  wondered  if  she   quite  forgot, 

The  morrow,  drawing  near! 
And  with  a  warm  and  tender  clasp, 

I  drew  her  to  my  side, 
And  parting  back  the  wavy  locks, 

That  graced  her  forehead  wide. 


For  the  Little  Ones. 

I  said  —  "what  think  you  Santa  Claus, 

Will  bring  us  all  to  night," 
The  little  creature  looked  askant, 

As  if  to  hear  aright — 
And  by  the  torch  upon  the  hearth 

'Twas  beautiful  to  see, 
The  half-reproachful  timid  glance, 

My  darling  cast  on  me. 

"I  thought  he  would  not  come  at  all;" 

(And  lifting  up  her  head,) 
"To-morrow  is  the  holy  day," 

With  pious  awe  she  said — 
"He  surely  will  not  bring  a  doll, 

Or  any  foolish  toys, 
'  T would  be  a  sin  in  Santa  Claus 

To  mar  our  Sabbath  joys!" 

My  heart  grew  sore  within  my  breast, 

And  tears  bedimmed  my  eye, 
For  many  little  foolish  toy 

Swung  in  the  stocking  high. 
But  talking  still,   with  scarce  a  thought, 

How  deep  the  wound  begun, 
My  innocent   unconscious  child, 

Still  farther  drew  me  on. 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  come  at  all, 
Or  if  he  does,  that  he 
Will  only  bring  a  Bible,   or 

A  Testament  to  me! 
Or  some  sweet  holy  book  to  read, 


30  For  the  Little  Oxes. 

Whore  any  little   child 
May  learn  in  babyhood  to  walk, 
All  pure  and  uudefiled." 

She  ceased  —  the  torch  upon  the  hearth 

In  beauteous  flames  had  spread, 
And  so   within   my  heart,   the  light 

Of  holiness  was  shed! 
Thus  chastened    meekly  by  my  child, 

New  hopes  begin  to  dawn, — 
And  strengthened  by  a  firm  resolve, 

I  hail  the  Christmas  mornl 


Sabbath  Lesson. 


Come  tell  me  darling,  do  you  know 
"Who  makes  the   little   flowers  grow? 
Who  drosses  up  the  woods  in  green, 
And  trims  the  little  shrubs  between? 

Who  tosses  lightly  o'er  the  pine, 
The  little  sprig  of  Eglantine  ? 
And  chooses  out  a  leafy  bough, 
To  grace  the  lonely  mountain's  brow? 

Who  is  it  perches  on  the  h  11, 
The  noisy  lark  with   singing  bill  ? 
And^  throws  a  song  across  the  lake, 
That  bids  the  little  birds  awake? 


For  the  Little  Ones.  37 

Who  dimples  o'er  the  forest  stream,  ■ 

And  lulls  the  little  fish  to  dream  ? 
And  fringes  o'er  the  dewy  glade, 
With  tassels  of  the  rushes  made  ? 

Dear  Eva,   can  you   tell  me   who — 
Who  made  the  sun  —  the  heavens  blue? 
And  crossed  the  firmament  at  night, 
With  beauteous  stars  of  twinkling  light  ? 

'Twas  God,   my  little   darling  child, 
At  whose  sweet  breath  the  flowers  smiled  I 
'Twas  God  who  dressed  the  woods  in  green, 
And   trimmed  the   little  shrubs  between  ! 

'Twas  God  who  hung  the  trembling  vine, 
Across  the  tall  uplifted  pine  ! 
And  graced  the  mountain,   taught  the   bird 
To  warble  out  his  sWeetest  word  I 

'Twas  God  who  dimpled  o'er  the  stream: 
And  wove  the    fish's  silvery  seam! 
Who  twined  the  fringe,  the  rushes  made, 
And  tasselcd  o'er  the  dewy  glade ! 

And  when  the  earth  so  sweetly  smiled, 
He   made  a  little  playful  child, 
To  romp  about  with  gladsome  feet, 
And  press  the  daisies,  wild  and  sweet  I 

But  little  buds  that  scent  the  air, 

And  little  birds  that  warble  near, 

Repeat  the  choral  echo  given, 

Twas  God  who  made  the  Earth  and  Heaven  t 


32  For  the  Little  Ones. 

,  "Willie's  Political  Alphabet. 


Come,   Willie,   come   study  your  State  Alphabet: 

First  A's  for  the   Army  —  now  don't  you  forget — 

And  B's  for  the  Banner,   the  "flag  of  the  free," 

For  Beauregard,  Bartow,  Bethel  and  Beel 

And  C's  for  the  "Southern  Confederacy"   brave, 

Our  bold  little  ship,  all  afloat  on  the  wave! 

And  D's  for  Davis,  oh,  wide  as  the  sea 

Shall  the  fame  of  our  glorious  President  be! 

Next,    E's  for  the   Eighth,   they  were  first  in  the  fight, 

And  F  is  for  Freedom,  the  freedom  of  right, 

And  G-  stanas  for  Georgia,  —  the  flower,   the  queen, 

And  H*  is  for  Hampton,   his  legion  I  mean! 

Now  I  is  the  Infantry,   sturdy  and  strong, 

And  the  J's  to  the  Johnsons  and  Jacksons  belong, 

And  K's  for  "King  Cotton ft  he  sits  on  his  throne, 

The  monarch  of  nations,   alone,   all  alone ! 

And  L  stands  for  Lincoln,  oh,  woe  to  his  crown! 

"King  Cotton,"   "King  Cotton"  is  trampling  him   down! 

And  M's  for  Manassas,  our  glory,   our  pride, 

And  N  for  the  Navy,   the  waters  to  guide, 

And  O's  for  the  Oglethorpes,  glorious  name! 

O  write  it  in  gold  on  the  pages  of  fame! 

And  stamp  Carolina  the  rebel  the   worst, 

With  a  P  for  Palmetto,  secession  the  first! 

And  Q  is  so  twisted,  so  twisted  and  twirled, 

That  Q's  for  the  traitors,  all  over  the  world, 

And  R  for  the  Rebels,  the  rebels  shall  stand — 

And  S  for  Savannah,  our  own  native  land. 

And  the  Creoles-  the  Tigers  are  graven  with  T, 


For  the  Little  Ones.  33 

And  U's  for  the  Union,  a  wreck  on  the  sea! 
And  V's  for  our  Victory,  bright  as  the  sun, 
And  W  for  "Washington,  soon  to  be  won! 
And  X  still  a  place  in  your  letters  must  keep, 
0  X  is  a  cross  for  the  heroes  you  weep! 
And  Y  for  the  Yankees,  the  Yankees  is  set, 
Then  Z  for  the  Zouaves  —  now  don't  you  forget  — 
For  Z  is  the  end  of  your  State  Alphabet. 


From  a  Little  Girl, 
On  being  asked  fob  a  Lock  of  her  Hair. 

Had  you  asked  for  a  flower,  a  leaf  or  a  rose, 
That  would  fade  just  as  soon  as  it  blossoms  or  blows, 
For  a  branch  from  the  myrtle,  the  cedar  or  pine, 
Just  to  cherish  because  I  had  once  called  it  mine,  — 

I'd  have  gathered  the  beautiful  tribute  so  fair, 
And  bound  it  perchance  with  the  ribbon  I  wear, 
And  breathed  on  it  softly  the  sweetest  of  sighs, 
That  ever  came  silently  down  from  the  skies. 

Had  you  asked  me  to  think  of  you  sometimes  by  day, 
Or  sometimes  by  night,  when  I'm  kneeling  to  pray, 
Or  away  on  the  green  in  some  light  hearted  game, 
To  steal  away  softly  and  call  you  by  name. 

0  'twould  have  been  sweet  to  remember  you  thus ! 
And  sweet  if  you'd  promise  to  think  so  of  us ; 
But  the  gift  you  have  chosen, —  O  light  as  the  air 
Is  the  unfettered  flow  of  my  sun-tinted  hair! 
C 


34  Fob  the  Little  Ones. 

Sot  the  spell  of  your  memory  —  bright  though  it  be  — 
Shall  bind  the  fair  captives  in  duty  to  thee, 
For  I  know  my  poor  ringlet  but  lightly  you'd  hold, 
By  the  side  of  some  lovelier  ringlet  of  gold. 

Then  gather  your  trophes  and  triumphs  at  home, 
Tho'  the  thoughts  I  have  promised  are  yours  as  you  roam, 
And  I  fain  would  remind  you  how  sweet  it  would  be 
If  you'd  think  of  us  sometimes,  as  we  do  of  thee. 


For  the  Very  Little  Ones. 

Birdie,  birdie  on  the  tree, 
Just  as  high  as  you  can  be, 
Hopping,  flying  all  about, 
Sometimes  in,  and  sometimes  out,  • 
Come  and  fold  your  downy  wing, 
Teach  me  softly  how  to  sing. 
Birdie,  birdie  well  I  know, 
Who  it  is  you're  singing  to  — 
And  I  wish  that  I  could  be, 
When  I  bend  my  little  knee, 
Half  as  full  of  praise  and  love 
As  the  song  you  send  above. 
I've  a  little  sister,  sweet, 
Just  beginning  to  repeat 
Little  hymns   and  little   prayers, 
Every  little   thing  she  hears; 
And   the  other. day   she  sat 
Down    upon   the   garden   plat, 


For  the  Little  Ones.  35 

Looking  up   among  the  trees, 
With   her   dolly   on   her  knees, 
Trying  hard   to  catch  the  air, 
You  were   singing  sweetly   there. 
Birdie,    birdie   on   the  tree, 
Tell  me,    can't   you  answer  me? 
Wont  you   teach    us   how   to  sing 
In   this   lovely   month   of  spring? 
Only   me   and  little   Bess, 
Do,    dear  birdie,    tell   me   yes! 
Bend  your  little   downy   crest, 
Softly   o'er  your  feathery   breast, 
And   I'll  take   it   for  sign 
That  you  love   us,    birdie   mine. 
Thank   you,   thank   you,   for   that    nod, 
0   how   beautiful  to   God 
Will   our   little   concerts   be ! 
Only  birdie,    Bess  and   me. 


ENIGMA. 

They  paint  me  bright  and  lift  me  high, 
Yet  mute   and  motionless  am   I.; 
To  distant  lands  I   point  the   way, 
But  not   a   word  have   I   to   say. 
Three   little  letters  form   my   name, 
Yet   wide   as  ocean   is   my  fame, 
And  tho'   my  life   is  still  and   calm, 
I  to  the  world  a  teacher  am. 

A  Map. 


36  For  the  Little  Ones 

ENIGMA. 

My  first  is  but  a  little  word. 

And  yet  'tis   often,   often  heard ; 

Two  letters  only  here   abound, 

One  straight  and  one   is   twisted  round; 

But  when  the  two  together  go, 

My  first — a  nuter  verb   will  show. 

Scorn  not  my  second  —  tho'   'tis  small, 

For  know  —  it  leads  an  army  tall, 

Full   twenty-five  beneath   are  set, 

My  second  heads  the   Alphabet. 

My   third  —  oh,    sweet,  how  sweet  the  chime, 

That  measures  out  the  thread   of  time  ! 

Three  little  letters  here   are  found, 

And  three  methinks  of  sweetest  sound ; 

Sometimes  it  quivers  like   a  song, 

Sometimes  it  tinkles,   ding,   ding,  dong, 

However  gay,   or  sad   the   soul, 

'Twill  either  sing,    or  chime,   or   toll ; 

Now    add  to  this  my  third  a  name  — 

And   strange  to  say  my  whole's   the   same. 

Is-a-bel. 


Julie's  Good  Night. 

Good  night    my  dear  auntie,   I'm  going  to  bed,. 
Little  Dickie's  asleep,   and  my  prayers  are  all  said, 
And  I've  folded  my  clothes  up,   so  nice  on  the  chair, 
Not  a  crease,  or  a  rumple,  or  wrinkle  is  there. 


For  the  Little  Ones. 
THE    SNOW. 

I    am   gazing  now   on  the  frozen  earth. 

And  the   snow-white  flakes  I  see, 
And  it  makes  me  sad,  that  a  thing  so   fair, 

So   cold  a   thing    should   be. 
0   it   is  not  like   my   own   warm   heart, 

With  its  icy  breath  I   ween ! 
Tho'  the  beautiful  snow  is  a  thing   so  pure 

That   I   would  my  heart  were   as   clean. 

0   it  is  not   like   my  own   warm  heart. 

As   it  falls  over   land  and   seal 
Tho'   never   a  lighter   step^iath  trod, 

Than   the   snow-flakes   seem   to   be. 
0   it   is  not  like    my   own   warm   heart, 

Tho'   it   covers  the   leafless  bough  1 
For  its   touch   is  cold,  and   the   branches  old, 

Are   shrinking  from   it  now. 

0   it  is   not'  like   my  own  warm   heart, 

But  of  life   may    an   emblem   be ! 
With  a  hue   so   bright,    and  a  step  so  light, 

It  hath   ever   a   charm  for  me. 
0   it  is!    oh,  it  is!    like  my  own   young  life, 

And  I  pray  like   the  melting  snows,. 
That  I  may  not  stay,  thro'   the  live-long  day, 

But  pass  e'er  the  sunshine  goes. 


38  For  the  Little  Ones. 

Nelsie's    Book-mark. 

In   the    leaflets   of  my  Bible, 

There's  the   sweetest  souvenir, 
'Tis   a  little   childish    marker, 

But  I   hold   it   very   dear. 
'Twas  a   tiny   fairy    finger, 

Worked  the  little   letters  so  — 
Laid  it  softly   in   my   Bible, 

Long   ago  —  oh,   long   ago  ! 


ENIGMA. 

My   first   is   ruby   red   and   bright, 
My  second  almost  snowy   white, 
My   third  if  perfect  doth   appear, 
Is  black   as  night,    and   polished   rare, 
Tho'  small  my  whole,  the  heart  within 
Is  linked   with   human   guilt   and   sin  1 

AN  ArPLE. 


THE    CLOCK. 

In   every   home   I  bear   a   part, 

And  gently  knock   at  every   heart ; 

The  old,   the  young,  both  feel  my  power, 

With  every  swift  returning  hour, 

And  Life  and  Death,   and  Earth  and  Heaven 

To  me  —  a  mighty   voice  hath   given! 


s- 


